A Legacy's Duty
by VioletShadows01
Summary: The Darach's use of the Nemeton for Blood Magic causes the scales to tip; and Beacon Hills soon finds itself at the center of it all. When it all becomes too much, Deaton gets in touch with an old contact for help. A person who is not as normal as they appear. Rating may change
1. Crossing the Line

**A Legacy's Duty**

**Summary:**

"With every action there is a positive and negative reaction."

The Darach's use of the Nemeton for Blood Magic causes the scales to tip; and Beacon Hills soon finds itself at the center of it all. When it all becomes too much, Deaton gets in touch with an old contact for help.

A person who is not as normal as they appear.

* * *

**Chapter One**  
_Crossing the Line_

* * *

_**Location: Unknown**_

"Morning, AJ!"

Yawning as she enters the large, open room, she waves absently at her brown-haired companion as she makes her way to the coffee maker, "Morning, Lance. How did the shift last night go?"

The blonde-haired woman listens as he goes through the numerous different jobs, her attention half-focused on his words as she mixes in her cream and sugars. Humming to herself, she snatches up a blue-tooth headset before making her way over to the large conference table. Unlike most wooden conference tables, the top of the long table was made of a plexiglass continental map of the United States. Settling into the comfortable computer chair, she loads up three of the touch screen computers hanging from ceiling by mounts. Checking the e-mail accounts, she blinks as she comes across a familiar, but unfrequent name.

"Hey, Lance," she calls out without looking over her shoulder, "Do you remember someone named Deaton?"

"Druid of Neutrality. You and Regan helped him on a case with that witch that was trying to turn those Mages off their path," Lance replies from the other side of the room.

_AJ,_

_Normally, I wouldn't have bothered with this unless the circumstances called for it, but I'm afraid that they, in fact, do call for it. The past two months, Beacon Hills, California has been visited by numerous amounts of supernatural creatures and if it wasn't for the Pack, I doubt this town would still be here. Unfortunately, things seem to be progressing worse and I haven't been able to figure out why._

_A couple of months ago, Beacon Hills was caught in a feud between a Darach and a Pack of Alpha Werewolves. The Pack was taken care of, with few casualties, but the Darach managed to use the Beacon Hills' Nemeton as a place of sacrifice; using Human sacrifices in exchange for power. The threefold deaths were calculated to be of the Five Factions, but the Beacon Hills' Pack managed to negate the Guardians when their children performed ritualistic self-sacrifices in their stead._

_I knew, and forewarned them, that their sacrifices would not only cut off the Darach's ritual, but would activate the Nemeton. I knew we would gain some kind of attention, but the amount of attention this town has had has increased and doesn't seem to have an end._

_I was hoping that you would be able to figure out if there is something I am missing. It seems like there is something...more that is calling attention to the Nemeton; something more than just the Natural Magic it carries._

_Your help would be most appreciative._

_Sincerely,_

_Dr. Alan Deaton_

Another thoughtful hum sounds from her as she stretches her arms over her head, allowing her back to crack. Shaking out her arms, she earns a chuckle from Lance as she gets ready to get in her zone. She prided herself on her level of work, that she rarely took no for an answer and she refused to give up. It was a personality trait many commented on being hereditary, and it was one that she never minded having.

A couple of years ago, AJ and two close friends had come together, pooling their resources, in order to establish an underground 'help' line in regards to a supernatural crisis. Their intel was almost limitless and the amount of contacts AJ had in regard to handing out jobs was more massive than most people realized. She liked helping people, protecting them. It was another trait she earned through her family, another thing she prided herself on.

Especially when people like Alan Deaton requested help.

She knew the Druid rarely needed help as he often worked behind the scenes in trying to establish and contain a sense of balance. It's something AJ admired and disliked, exclusively, about Druids. Their need of obtaining a healthy balance kept their territory relatively free of supernatural influence, but often caused them to refrain from stepping in on a count of moral obligation. They never place their own morals, or ideals, before Nature itself; and that is an idea she can't get behind.

So, him requesting help must mean something bad is happening. Something he wants stopped, but is unable to do it himself.

Crackling her knuckles, she heaves a deep sigh before digging into her research.

* * *

_**Locaton: Beacon Hills, California**_

"Get him on the table! Scott, get me some bandages."

The heavily injured form of Isaac Lahey was laid out on the metal table as Deaton cut away the torn fabric of his t-shirt. Seeing the blackened edges of the slash marks along the teen's torso, Deaton carefully swabs the area with several Q-Tips, placing them in test tube in order to test for any irregularities in the wound. Derek Hale carefully held the golden-eyed Beta down by his shoulders as Deaton poked around the open wounds, searching for any foreign material that may have been left behind by the creature.

A slow whistle of disbelief pierces through the silence, all eyes snapping toward the source of the noise. A petite blonde-haired woman, hardly any older than the teenagers, stood at the threshold of the room, her light-eyed gaze focused in the injured Beta. She promptly ignores the warning growls from both Scott and Derek as she moves closer to the exam table, not even greeting Deaton as she absently snaps latex gloves onto her hands, her fingers delicately tracing along the wound.

"Damn. Is this one of the Pups?" the woman asks, not looking away from the wound as she examines the blackened edges carefully.

"He is. Isaac Lahey. We aren't sure what attacked him, but the creature vanished with one of their friends, Stiles Stilinski," Deaton stated.

"So...this thing leaves behind a perfectly injured, weakened piece of prey, but snags a Human instead?" the woman asks, her gaze flicking up to Deaton, who nods, "This happen this evening? Probably in the woods, right?" Deaton nods again and the woman hums thoughtfully before snapping off the gloves and tossing them in the red-labeled waste basket. "Well, he's going to be fine. His body is just fighting off a natural affection from the claws. I doubt the damn thing takes the time to wash its hands. Just clean the wound and allow him to heal as he should."

"You know what attacked them?" Deaton asks, quirking an eyebrow.

The woman smirks, raising a sarcastic eyebrow of her own, "You have met me, yes? C'mon, Doc. Do you have a geographical map of the area?"

"I do. Scott," the young True Alpha snaps out of his stupor, eyes turning to the vet, "Can you go into my office and get my topographical map of Beacon Hills?"

As the map is stretched out on a different exam table, the woman hums as she begins marking the map with a marker at different intervals, "Okay, can you tell me where your friends were attacked?" She looks up, only to notice the two Werewolves tense at the attention, "What?"

Deaton sighs, "Your eyes, dear."

The woman scoffs with dismissal. Deaton understands why the two Werewolves are uncomfortable. The silver-blue flecks coloring the light-green irises are abnormal at best, not something most people come across regularly.

"Right. My eye doctor swears I have what is called Central Heterochromatic eyes. It's a discoloration of the irises. Most people are more familiar with people that have one hazel eye and one blue eyes, but in my case the discoloration is in both eyes and centered around my pupils," the woman replies.

Scott coughs before pointing at a spot on the map, "This is where we found Isaac. Stiles was with him at the time, but when we arrived, Isaac said whatever ambushed them was faster than the eye can keep up and it took off with Stiles."

The woman nods, "Right. Well, this," she taps one of the marked spots, "indicates a small cave that runs along the edges of the ravine. You said your friend, Isaac, mention the thing was fast; faster than a Werewolf can keep up with? Well, if we're going to find this...Stiles kid, it will probably be there."

"You know he's alive?" Derek questions, eyes narrowed with suspicion, "How?"

The woman sighs, standing upright, "Because your friend was abducted by a Wendigo, which is _way_ weird because the geographical location is completely out of sorts for this type of creature. A Wendigo hibernates for seventeen years at a time and when they awaken they horde their food for their next hibernation cycle."

"Their...food?" Scott gulps, his shoulder tensing.

The woman nods curtly, "Wendigos were once Human, but during a time period where food was...scarce, they resorted to cannibalism. A human feeding on the flesh of another human tends to cause some kind of...metaphysical change."

"That _thing_ took Stiles to _eat_!" Scott shouts, eyes widening in horror as he exchanges a glance with Derek, who also appears to be worried about the situation.

"It's okay. We know where the thing is camping out. They keep their food alive for days before...uh...storing it," the woman responds, trying to placate the frantic teen. "If I recall, Wendigos can't cross salt lines and are susceptible to fire, so...flare guns would work best."

"Right...who the hell carries around a flare gun?" Derek snarks, apparently uncomfortable around the knowledgable woman.

She raises her hand in a mocking manner, "Uh...I do. I have an arsenal in the trunk of my car."

"So...exactly _who_ are you?" Scott asks, shifting his weight as the tension seems to raise between the blue-eyed Beta and this odd woman, "I mean...we've never met you before."

"Surely you remember when I told all of you about requesting some help with our current problem?" Deaton asks, earning nods from the two Werewolves, "This is AJ, Co-Founder of ARC Consultants."

"ARC Consultants?" the two echo in confusion.

"It takes too long to explain, and right now, we don't have time to spare. Let me put it this way, I know what I'm doing and I'm here to help," AJ responds, waving off their concern. Her eyes flick toward Deaton, "Although, you weren't kidding about this place becoming the proverbial hotspot, but we'll have a chat about that after we save this...Stiles kid."

* * *

Derek Hale watches with thinly veiled suspicion as the blonde woman, AJ, makes her way out of the clinic, stalking over to the dark-cherry red 1965 Mustang Fastback. Deaton promised to keep an eye on Isaac so both he and Scott can rescue Stiles, the vet insisting on the two of them taking AJ's help. The blonde huffed at the suggestion, but said nothing as she motioned for the wolves to follow her. Pausing next to the woman as she opens the trunk of her car, they watch as she presses a small switch, causing a board to slide out, displaying a secret cache stashed with various weapons.

"Holy crap!" Scott exclaims, his eyes wide as the woman grabs the side of the cache and pulls upwards, revealing three full tray-like expansions; reminding Derek of the inside of a tackle box.

"Yeah. Sometimes a person can't be sure what they're up against, so one must keep a variety of different weapons that can be used. See, I have knives of pure iron," she taps a finger along the bottom tray, which seemed to be a selection of various knives and bladed weapons, "silver," she taps another finger indicating the blade, "This knife is inscribed with ancient Sumerian runes that allows this knife to kill demons."

Derek tenses as the information slots together, only to hear a sharp smack as AJ slaps the back of Scott's hand as he reaches out to touch one of the odd wooden spikes, "_You_ don't want to touch that. It's made of Rowan, better known as Mountain Ash. Touch that and you'll burn your hand."

"You're a _Hunter_," Derek hisses.

AJ shrugs a shoulder, tilting her hand side-to-side, "Kinda. I'm the Co-Founder of ARC Consultants. We help where we can when it comes to the Supernatural underbelly of the world. When people get turned, or they can't help being what they are born as, we help them learn how to cope in a healthy manner that doesn't reveal their existence to humanity."

"What do you mean cope?" Scott asks as the woman moves to the second tray, which held a variety of guns.

AJ huffs, "Let me give you an example. There was this girl, barely sixteen. She was bitten by a Vampire and turned. Now, if you never feed on human blood, the newly-turned Vamp could be turned back to Human. Carissa, unfortunately, was force-fed Human blood, but didn't want to hurt innocent people. Sooo," AJ removes two flare guns from the trunk, "my friend Carter located a nest in her area, made sure they were clean and we got her acclimated into the life-style. Sometimes, though," she pushes the tray back down, shutting the trunk, "they can't help themselves, no matter how hard we try, and sometimes there are those that _don't_ care who they hurt, and we have to...take care of it."

Scott lets out a thoughtful noise, "So...Deaton called you about the Nemeton?"

"E-mailed, but essentially, yes. Now, once a person becomes a Wendigo, there's no turning back, so this one gives us no choice," she replies, her unique eyes shifting between the two, "Which one of you knows how to aim properly? Your enhanced senses will probably make this type of Hunt easier than me doing it on my own."

Derek is thankful when Scott is the one to take the flare gun. She indicates for them to lead the way before climbing into her car. As Derek and Scott both settle into the Toyota, they head toward the road closest to the cavern.

"So...she's...different," Scott says, breaking the silence. "Do you think there really is an entire...faction of Hunters like her?"

Derek shrugs, "Not sure. Let's not be too quick to trust her. Even if Deaton does give her a vote of confidence, there's something...odd about her."

* * *

_"-doesn't explain where you are."_

Derek and Scott share a glance as the blonde steps out of her parked vehicle, her phone attached to her ear, her eyes announcing her annoyance, "Relax. This isn't my first Wendigo hunt and at least this time I have back up."

_"That's not the point, Lis!"_

"C'mon. You _really_ need to relax. I promise, I'll fill you in when I finish this one. There's just...something really weird about all of this and none of the maps back at the office have as much detail as the one's here. I'm not doing _anything_ until I get all the facts down."

A sigh sounds from the other line, _"Alright, kid. Just make sure to stay safe, ya' hear?"_

"I know."

_"Love you, Lis."_

"Aw, you know I love you too, Dad," her tone mocking.

An bemused huff sounds before the man on the other line hangs up. AJ shakes her head as she hangs up, making sure to put her phone on silence. Turning toward Scott and Derek, she motions for them to come closer.

"Your friend's phone probably has some kind of GPS system installed on it, right?" Scott nods, "Good. Can you ping his position? It'll make it easier to navigate rather than going in blind."

The trek through the woods is at a calm pace, AJ explaining that rushing into things tends to make the situation worse. Derek listens intently as she explains how Wendigos are perfect nocturnal hunters, nearly perfect predators because they don't need light in order to see. Scott shows some interest as she speaks at lengthy detail, the young woman showing no signs of annoyance as he asks questions.

"So...Vampires are real? I thought...you know..."

"That they were myths? Stories?" AJ finishes Scott's sentence, smirking at the boy as she gives him a pointed look, "Gee, I wonder what _other_ types of mythological creatures are real?" She lets out a huff of near-silent laughter as Scott flushes, "Yes. Vampires are real, but they are nearly extinct. A couple of decades ago, Vampire hunting became a popular trend in the hunting community and it _really_ killed their numbers. Most nests nowadays are conditioned to..._vet_ their children, follow certain guidelines before turning them; some people with cancer or some illness that they happen to know personally and are willing to be turned, not so different than your species to be honest. We have one Vamp in each nest marked as a contact, to give us updates to make sure they're staying on track."

"How is it possible that you do _all_ of this? You're barely older than him," Derek asks, motioning to Scott.

AJ glances over at him, quirking an eyebrow, "Deaton mentioned that the Hale's are born werewolves, yes?" Derek and Scott both nod, causing her to nod in turn, "Well, like you were born into your lifestyle, I was _born_ into mine. Just like the Argents, a long line of history with that family."

"Are they a part of your...ARC system?" Scott asks, curious about his on-and-off-again girlfriend.

AJ lets out a short, sarcastic bark of laughter, "That's a _big_ Hell no. No offense, but _most_ Hunters follow a certain Code when it comes to doing a job. There's been a long line of Code Breaking when it comes to some of the Argents and we aren't exactly sure which one's are trustworthy and which ones aren't. And we tend to stay away from the _species _Hunters. Those types of Hunters are known for going off the reservation, so to speak."

"So, Hunters don't trust other Hunters?" Derek asks, snorting at the irony.

AJ shrugs, "I don't trust the kind of Hunters that show signs of being bigger monsters than their intended targets. Trust me when I say, there is a _very_ thin line on keeping one's humanity. We learn early on that we can't save everyone, no matter how hard we try, and we can't always fix the problem without there being some collateral damage along the way."

Moving aside some branches, the trio keep their senses open as they carefully move through the woods. Scott glances at the woman from the corner of his eye, biting on the inside of his cheek as he muses over his next question.

"So how old are you _really_?"

Her eyebrows twitch, a heavy sigh leaving her lips as she shakes her head, "Honestly? I...don't know. I can't remember much before five years ago, so my exact age is...unknown."

"You have amnesia?" Derek asks, tilting his head as he looks over the girl once more.

She nods, "I suppose I do. My...situation is complicated at best."

"You're awfully forthcoming with information about yourself," Derek points out, "Most Hunters I've come across are secretive."

A huff of laughter echoes softly through the trees, "Just because I tell you truthful answers in response to your questions, doesn't mean I'm telling you _everything_. Some of the things about my life you don't need to know, and others are things _nobody_ needs to know."

"Hey, GPS says we're half of a mile from Stiles' position," Scott whispers.

Derek and AJ both nod curtly, silence falling over the group as they get closer to the cavern.

* * *

God, did everything hurt. It's been hours since Stiles Stilinski could feel his arms; the long limbs stretched above his head, bound at the wrists, forcing all of his weight to place strain on the limbs. The sticky crimson substance staining the side of his head is nothing compared to the burning cuts lining his exposed torso. He hopes Isaac is alright. Even though the two of them rarely get along, the kid has been through enough crap.

A gust of warm breath brushes against the back of his neck, a shiver running along his spine. He can hear the low, guttural growl from the creature behind him. Fear crawls along his nerves as he mentally pleads for his safety.

A whistle pierces through the air, the creature behind him snarling toward the sound.

"Come out to play!" a feminine voice sings, the voice echoing through the cavern walls.

A flutter of wind breezes past him and as silence falls over him, the captive teen heaves a sigh of relief. Distant growls drift in the air, the discomfort of being left in the dark causes his chest to tighten, his breathing becoming quick and shallow. Tears burn his eyes as he fights against the panic rising in his chest, his heart racing, pounding against his ribcage. He wants to relax, but his captivity and anxiety only seems to mix together, causing his brain to become hyper-aware of _every_ possibility.

"Stiles!"

The familiar, sharp tone breaks through the panic, his eyes lifting to see familiar neon-blue eyes peering at him from the darkness of the cave, "Derek? H-How?"

"Don't worry about that right now. Let's get you out of here," the Beta wolf replies, aiming to keep his tone calm in order to reduce the boy's panic.

A groan rumbles from the back of Stiles' throat as his bindings are cut, his entire weight crumbling to the ground; the teen thankful for Derek's quick reflexes as his arms hook under his arm pits, keeping him elevated. Without a word, the dark-haired Beta helps lead the boy through the winding tunnels, locating the exit. A howl of pain sounds from the mouth of the cave, both of them tensing at the familiar noise.

"Get down!" a feminine voice calls out.

A loud bang sounds before a flare of light bursts, slamming into the chest of the gruesome looking creature standing over Scott. Stiles tries to ignore Derek's habitual flinch as the creature's entire body burns up, the flames mounting along the long limbs until it fades into ash. Blinking as his eyes adjust to the change of light, Stiles' gaze settles on the blonde woman holding the flare gun; small cuts visible along the arms of her jacket.

"Who the hell is _that_?" Stiles questions, breathing heavily.

"Her name is AJ," Stiles quirks an eyebrow at the name, Scott gesturing toward the woman, "Apparently Deaton called in a favor from a Hunter."

Seeing her abnormal gaze focus on his sudden tension, Stiles struggles to keep from shifting his weight nervously as the woman lets out an annoyed huff, her hand pocketing the flare gun, "Yeah, yeah. I'm a big bad Hunter, you can't trust me, yadda, yadda, yadda; blah, blah, blah. Can we get out of here? I didn't exactly sign up to Hunt down a Wendigo when I agreed to help Doc."

As the woman stalks off with confident steps, the three Pack members share a glance before following after the woman. Stiles can't help the impressed whistle that leaves his lips at the sight of her car as she rounds to the trunk and pulls open the weapon cache. Scott leaves his side as he returns the unused flare gun, his empty hand filled with a sealed bottled water.

"Give this to your friend. He might be slightly dehydrated. He doesn't look too bad, other than the bump on his head, but I'd mark it as a mild-concussion at the most," AJ says without prompting, "He can use whatever he doesn't drink to wash away some of the dirt."

Scott's fingers curl around the bottle, eyes lifting to meet her gaze, "Thank you."

She quirks an eyebrow, "Dude, it's a _bottle of water_."

"No. I mean thank you for helping us," Scott reaffirms, shaking his head, "You don't even know us, and you didn't have any real reason to save Stiles, but...you did."

She firmly shuts the trunk, eyebrows narrowed as she assesses Scott's demeanor for any falsehood, "Um...sure. Whatever. I was here. Someone needed help. I happen to be prepared. It's kind of my _job_."

Realizing the woman was most likely unaccustomed to being thanked for her help, Stiles takes the water from Scott, "Awesome," He croaks, "My throat is dry as hell."

AJ blinks at the change of subject before letting out a small haughty laugh, "Yeah. Wendigos are mean sons a'bitches," Her head tilts toward the two Werewolves, "No offense meant to the Pups."

Despite the situation, Stiles cackles, head tilting back, "Oh man! I thought there was a 'no dog jokes' rule." The brown-haired teen grins at the Huntress, "Well, so far, I like ya. Now, lets get out of here. Dad's gonna kill me if I come home covered in blood again."

AJ slides behind the wheel of her car, leaving the three Pack members to share telling looks. Stiles, glancing between the two wolves, groans, rolling his eyes as he holds his hand out to Derek, "Dude, either Scott rides with the unknown Hunter, or you hand over your keys to one of us, or _I'm _the one that rides with the chick."

Derek barely has to contemplate the thought before he tosses his keys to Scott. Stiles understands the Beta's reasons; he isn't going to let their Alpha ride in a car alone with an unknown Hunter, nor the injured Pack member. Watching as Derek stiffly slides into the passenger seat of the woman's vehicle, to which she only rolls her eyes when Scott demands that she leads the way back to Deaton's clinic. Limping to the Toyota, Stiles offers Scott a small, thankful grin, trying to ease his friend's tension.

Nothing ever good came from new players on the board.

* * *

Once again, leaning against a nearby wall, Derek watches the blonde as she shifts through endless papers, maps and old texts; her teeth gnawing at the cap of a thin, felt-tip marker as her eyes flick back and forth between focal points. With two of his Pack members injured and resting, Derek remains on point; wondering how Humans are so capable of getting lost in their concentration for hours on end. AJ happens to be hitting the third hour marker in her work; Deaton occasionally offering a cup of coffee for the working woman.

A shift in her posture indicates a new train of thought, her eyebrows knitting together as her head tilts, gaze shifting over the geographical map of Beacon Hills. Something must have caught her attention as she removes the marker from mouth, popping off the cap thoughtlessly before dragging the reddened tip along the map; tracing something of obvious importance. A thoughtful hum escapes her as she turns her gaze to a different map, her fingers moving over the map.

"Hey, McCall. Deaton mentioned that you know where the Nemeton is located, yes?" At Scott's positive response, her eyes flick up to meet the Alpha's (an action that causes Derek to tense out of instinct), "Do you think you can point it out on this map?"

Nodding, Scott approaches the table. It only takes him a short while to mark down the Nemeton's position with a blue marker. Giving him a curt thanks, the woman motions for him to go somewhere else as her gaze darkens with thought.

"Shit!" she hisses, shoulders tensing as her back straightens; a posture that most people refer to as 'standing at attention'. "The Darach _is_ dead, yes?" Hearing the affirmations, AJ grunts, "Good. Otherwise I'd kill her myself."

"What's going on?" Scott asks, glancing over at Derek as the two wolves step toward the woman.

She says nothing as she moves to the lit-up panel (Deaton uses to examine X-Rays), taking the map Scott marked with her, "You see this, right?" She fastens it against the panel, tapping her index finger against the blue mark, "This marks the Nemeton's position. Now, you see this?" She fastens the other map next to it, red lines drawn along the map, "Now, both of these lines intersect here," Her finger taps as an indicator against the red-marked map, "and the exact coordinates match up with the Nemeton's position."

"So? They're rivers? Or roads?" Derek questions.

AJ shakes her head, "Worse," She moves the blue-dotted map to set it over the other, causing the blue mark to become slightly visible from underneath the red crosshairs, "Deaton! You might want to come look at this."

Derek has never seen the Emissary's face show any sense of fear, "Oh, dear Lord."

"What? What's going on?" Scott demands, the tension rising in the air.

"These lines are ley lines; certain places underneath the Earth's crust that shifts along the techtonic plates. You have what we refer to as a _Natural Crossroads_, and sitting at the epicenter of it all is a Nemeton, or a Natural Purifier. You guys are quite literally sitting on what most pop culture refers to as a Hellmouth; or a Devil's Gate," AJ backs away from the display, "And that bitch focused so much Blood Magic and sacrificial rituals that it forced the Nemeton's natural balance to tip dramatically. It's _literally_ bleeding Hell into the soil..."

She looks up at them all, her eyes stern as she says, "And Beacon Hills is at the center of it all."

* * *

**Alright! Just so you know, this happens after Season 3a, ignoring Season 3b, and it does in fact include facets from Supernatural (gotta love that show). Leave a review, let me know what you think!**


	2. Earned, Never Given

**A Legacy's Duty**

**Summary:**

"With every action there is a positive and negative reaction."

The Darach's use of the Nemeton for Blood Magic causes the scales to tip; and Beacon Hills soon finds itself at the center of it all. When it all becomes too much, Deaton gets in touch with an old contact for help.

A person who is not as normal as they appear.

* * *

**Chapter Two**  
_Earned, Never Given_

* * *

_**Location: Beacon Hills, California**_

"So...you're saying that Beacon Hills is sitting on top of a Devil's Gate?"

The entire Pack has assembled at Derek's loft (all werewolves, hunters, humans and banshee accounted for -with the exception of Peter-), eyes flicking away from Scott and Derek toward the blonde woman leaning against a wall; her thought-glazed eyes trained on the floor. It was expected that every person was hesitant around AJ, who was apparently a well-trained Hunter; one who probably rivals Chris Argent, despite her age. High competence is expected, but it's also a sign that this barely-legal woman is _dangerous_.

"Um..." Scott rubs the back of his neck, glancing over at the blonde, "Hey, AJ. Can you explain it?"

Shaking herself from her thoughts, AJ sighs, "No, Beacon Hills isn't sitting on top of a Devil's Gate," Scott and Derek both open their mouths to object, but the woman sighs, combing her fingers through her bangs, "but it has a high potential to become one if someone were to make it happen."

At the confused faces, she pushes away from the wall, "In order to balance out the amount of power that would typically seep out of the Ley lines, the Nemeton was placed to act as a natural filter; cycling the negative magic and turning it into a more purified, natural power. With the Nemeton currently running on tainted magic, if anyone possesses the knowledge and skill of using that, they could create a brand new Gate. If that were to open...Beacon Hills would be ground zero of a demon invasion; the first one to happen in over a decade."

"A Devil's Gate has been opened before?" Lydia asks, her eyes calculating.

The blonde moves back and forth at a slow pace, unhurried in her movements despite the situation, "Yes. It was only open for no more than ten minutes; but within ten minutes thousands of demons were able to escape Hell and break into the world as we know it. The Nemeton was able to keep the Ley lines hidden from the world; but Hell thrives on power, manipulation, seduction and greed. So, any creature thirsting for that kind of power would come searching for the origins."

"Hence all the creeps coming to town," Stiles points out.

Nodding curtly, AJ hums, "Exactly. That's probably the reason behind Beacon Hills having always been Pack Territory."

Derek's posture straightens, eyebrows narrowing, "How do you know that?"

"It's not hard to figure out, given the situation. Packs of your specific species are known to protect and control what happens in their territory. Having a humanized Pack positioned in this town gives another layer of protection," AJ sighs, "Ugh, I'm going to need to make some phone calls."

Allison steps forward as the woman takes out her phone, "Do you mind putting it on speaker? We don't really have anything more than Deaton's word that you're to be trusted. For all we know, you could be here to use such power."

The woman clicks her tongue dismissively in Allison's direction, but soon enough the sound of a call going through fills the loft.

_"Thank you for calling McCloud's Body Shop, where we bring back the laughter in slaughter. How may I direct your call?"_

Huffing in annoyance, AJ sets the phone on the wood table, "I wasn't aware I had to make an appointment, Regan."

_"Aw, is that my favorite Huntress? Lance said you left a couple days ago. If I didn't know you well enough, I would have been worried."_

Rolling her eyes, AJ shakes her head, ignoring the discomfort displayed in the people around her, "I'm sure," The wry tone isn't lost on anyone, "I'm calling because I may need someone of your particular skill."

_"Oh? Don't tell me you're calling me to help you on a hunt? Where exactly are you located?"_

"The town called Beacon Hills, California ring a bell to you?"

A thoughtful hum sounds through the phone, _"Ah, yes. That would be the home of the Good Doctor Deaton, yes?"_

"Yes. And it just so happens to be sitting on top of a _Natural Crossroads_," AJ emphasizes.

_"Truly?"_ The teasing tone disappears in the woman's voice, _"That's not good. We can't handle the mess that would happen if another break out was to occur."_

"I'm aware of this, Regan. What I _need_ is someone that can get me answers, or at least point me in the right direction. Do you think you can dig up as much information as you can before heading out this way?"

_"For you, Lis? Of course. I should make contact within a week."_

"Thanks. Oh, and Regan?"

_"Hm?"_

AJ flicks her gaze over the group briefly before she states, "Pick up a Witch on your way."

A burst of deep, hearty laughter echoes from the phone, _"You got it, Boss."_

Hanging up the phone, AJ heaves a sigh as she pockets her phone, "Alright. All we can do right now is try and keep the Nemeton protected. I know a few wards that can help, if we place different spheres of protection around it, we can focus on the most outer sphere."

The strategists of the group (Derek, Stiles, Lydia, and the Argents) watch as she spreads out Deaton's map. Together, they manage to mark five rings of warding around the Nemeton (each ring of wards more powerful the closer a person is to the Nemeton) and three rings of wards around the circumference of the town (the preserve marked as the center of those particular wards). AJ insists she can do the warding on her own, but Allison is adamant about the lack of trust the group has for her.

"I never asked any of you to trust me," AJ remarks curtly, blue-flecked green eyes hard as she stares Allison down, "In fact, I doubt I will ever ask you. Trust, respect and honor are things that must be earned, not just freely given. If you trust me, you trust me. If you don't, well that's on you. I'm not even here for _your_ benefit. I'm here because if word gets out about your current problem, there won't be a balance between Humanity and Supernatural communities. You'd be lucky if you have a _town_ left."

* * *

AJ slips out of the loft apartment, easily locating a set of stairs that lead to the roof. Looking over the town, she digs her phone back out. As the phone rings, she holds it between her shoulder and ear as she pats her jacket.

_"Yo! This is Lance!"_

"Hey. I need you to do me a solid," she states as she pulls a half-empty pack of cigarettes from her pocket, taking one of them out.

_"What'cha need, girl?"_

Inhaling nicotine, tobacco, smoke and mint, AJ feels the tension fade from her shoulders, a small smile ticking her lips, "Can you find me a place to set some roots down in Beacon Hills, California? I'm not sure how long I'm going to be here, and I'd rather not hole up in some shitty motel."

_"Sure enough, sister. Lemme see what I can find for ya. I should have a place within twenty minutes. Call you back, sugar."_

"Keep up with those annoying pet names and I'll shove my fist in your face the next time I see you," AJ teases.

_"Just because you're allergic to showing affection."_

"That's cause I'm not a little bitch."

_"I'd gladly be your little bitch."_

AJ lets out a bark of laughter, thankful for a familiar voice in the midst of her being surrounded by strangers, "Bitch, I ain't your type."

_"Ha. You got jokes, sugar tits."_

"Oh, I double dog dare you to call me that in front of Dad."

_"Which one?"_

Huffing, she rolls her eyes, "You're an infant, you know that, right?"

Laughter is the only response she gets before he hangs up. Shaking her head, she slips her phone back into her pocket, once again, her mind trained on the situation at hand. This is why she makes a habit out of distributing jobs among other people. Hunting, even when it plays in the favor of other people, is a thankless, hopeless, and endless existence. Not that she does it for thanks, but she is simply reminded behind her reasons of disliking humanity more than monsters. Monsters don't fake. Monsters do pretend. Monsters are what they are. Humanity, people and supernatural creatures alike, are prideful, arrogant and greedy.

It's no wonder why Hell carries the higher population of souls.

"Hey."

Exhaling a plume of grey smoke, AJ flicks her gaze toward the brown-haired teen she had helped rescue just yesterday. Stiles Stilinski. Taking in the awkward, nervous shuffling he generates as her attention focuses on him, she gives the boy a peace of mind and turns her gaze back to the town. She doesn't say anything. Really, what can she say? The kid is obviously trying to figure it out himself.

"I'm sorry about Allison," the boy states, "When Chris mentioned he had never heard of ARC Consultants, she grew suspicious."

"Like I told your friends, the Argent family has shown a long line of tragedies and code breaking. They can't be trusted to uphold our rules, so none of us have contracted with them," AJ explains, as easily as possible, her tone matter-of-fact and unbiased.

As something moves in the corner of her eye, she looks over without turning her head as the boy steps up to stand at her side, his head bobbing in agreement, "I can understand that. To be honest, there's a lot of bad blood between us. I never liked how Chris turned a blind eye to his family's actions and it wasn't that long ago that Allison allowed herself to be manipulated as a pawn against us. We've all tried to bury it, but..."

"Sometimes those things don't stay buried," AJ finishes the thought, nodding her in after a moment of silence, "I really don't care who is friends with who. I'm here to do a job. You people may not agree with my methods, and there will probably come a time where I don't agree with _anything_ you guys do, but that doesn't stop the fact that you guys have a _serious_ problem on your hands."

"I get that," Stiles responds and she can feel his gaze trained on the side of her head, "I never did thank you, personally."

Shrugging a shoulder, she finishes off the last of her smoke before flicking it over the edge of the building, "It doesn't matter. I don't do my job in an attempt to get thanks. I do it because I can. Either people respect it, or they don't."

"Well, regardless of all that. Thank you."

* * *

Lance manages to locate a simple, two-bedroom loft apartment within twenty minutes and after two days, AJ had successfully moved in. The extra bedroom had been converted into a study; a large oak desk set in front of the left wall, bookshelves stuffed to the brim with texts lining the walls, two comfortable arm chairs and a window seat meant for her own comfort. When she isn't sleeping, eating, or going on her morning run, the blonde finds herself locked up in her study. Using her laptop, she tracks down different lore on Natural Crossroads and Nemetons, making sure to cite the web pages so she can return to them when needed and cross referencing a lot of information.

Dressed in simple black yoga pants and a dark purple tank top, she steps out of the bathroom, a towel slung over her shoulder when a knock sounds at her front door. Knowing it isn't any of _her_ friends, she heaves a sigh before moving to answer the door. Glancing through the peep hole, she rolls her eyes before pulling the door open.

"I thought I felt someone following me this morning," she states tonelessly, without a formal greeting, "What can I do for you, Argent and...Argent?"

Christopher Argent nods curtly, "We were hoping to come in and speak with you about establishing a treaty of some kind."

"You are more than welcome to come in, but there isn't anything you can say that would make me want to establish a..._treaty_," AJ replies, turning on point in order to walk further into her apartment, "And close the damn door, would ya?"

"Look, Miss..." Chris pauses, as if unsure how to address her.

AJ snorts at the method, realizing the man is trying to get some information off of her, "AJ. You, just like everyone else here, can call me AJ."

"AJ," Chris coughs, "We just want to make sure no lines are crossed."

Cackling as she steps toward the kitchen, "A little to late for _that_. Coffee? Tea? I'd offer you a beer, but I'm afraid I only have whiskey in the cabinet."

"You're hardly older than I am. Why would you have whiskey on hand?" Allison questions, eyebrows narrowed.

"Alcohol happens to work well as a disinfectant and also happens to take the edge of when one is stitching themselves up," the blonde smarts, completely ignoring the aggressive young girl, "Now, like I said, would you like something to drink?"

"Coffee is fine," Chris says, cutting his daughter off before she can start an argument. "Look, we just want to establish some form of boundaries. We don't want anyone stepping on each other's toes."

"I happen to be a fantastic dancer, Christopher," AJ says mockingly as she pours three mugs of coffee, "and I'm afraid I am in no position to be making treaties with you, or the Pack. I'm here as a freelance Hunter to assess the situation and figure out how to stop it. I'm not here to hurt any innocent people. Either take my word for it, or get the hell out."

"We're not trying to start any trouble," Chris says, raising his hands defensively, "We just feel if we have an understanding-"

"I don't get how non-understanding I am being. I'm here to do a job and that's it. This isn't a pow-wow, Argent. I don't make treaties, because any contracts I make are unbreakable, and if I know anything, you're family has a reputation for code breaking," AJ intones, her eyes stern.

Allison slaps her palm against the counter top island, "You can't hold something our family members have done over our heads."

"Actually, I _can_."

"So, you mean to tell me, no one in _your_ family has done something bad?" Allison shoots back.

AJ's relaxed posture leans against the counter, her eyes brightening with something dangerous even as she bares her teeth with a wide grin, "Every mistake members of _my_ family have made, they have righted on their own terms. They've atoned for their own transgressions and paid with their own blood, sweat, tears and even at the cost of their lives," Allison blinks in surprise, even as AJ uses a spoon to stir her creams and sugars, her entire posture displaying none of the ire that marks her voice, "What exactly have you done to pay for your crimes?"

"I never broke a code!"

AJ's eyes snap up from her coffee mug, her gaze sharp and intensified at the denial, "I have it on great authority that you mindlessly attacked innocents, without mercy. ARC Consultants isn't a place for mindless drones. We like people that are capable of thinking on the fly and have the ability to judge a situation unbiased and without contempt. We run our operations based on trust, honor and respect; and as you stated just a few days ago, I haven't earned yours, and I have yet to find anything redeeming enough to give you mine."

Chris clears his throat, looking away from his daughter's guilt stricken expression, "AJ, I hope we can find a way to redeem my family's name. I was just hoping that we could come up with temporary compromise."

"There is nothing to compromise, Christopher," AJ replies, her voice passive and bored, "I've assessed the situation and already made a few phone calls. I am willing to tell you that the perimeter wards around town, and the Nemeton, have been in place since yesterday. The outer wards will signal anything coming into town that can't be compelled to turn and get the hell out of dodge. Anything that manages to step foot on the Preserve will also signal me and will give enough time to take care of the threat. I will keep open communication about any trespassers and any valuable information regarding the Nemeton. Other than that, the way I handle _my_ operation isn't disclosed. Some of my contacts have no reason to trust Hunters of your kind, and I won't put their lives in danger over an ill-advised pissing contest."

Allison huffs, pushing her barely used mug across the counter, "I'm going to head over to Scott's. Let him know what _isn't_ going to happen."

As the front door shut behind the teenage Huntress, AJ hears a sigh from the girl's father and without hesitation, the blonde brandishes the whiskey bottle and offers to pour some in his coffee. Chris offers her a small nod and exhales after taking a long sip.

"I apologize for my daughter. Allison can be...stubborn. She doesn't like being reminded of how easily manipulated she was," Chris explains tiredly, rubbing a hand over his head, "I've tried to explain to her that it wasn't entirely her fault. I allowed my father to poison her mind."

AJ hums, "Your father, Gerard Argent. That man was a menace. Many humanized Packs have been slaughtered under his command."

"I know. I never wanted Allison dragged into this laugh," Chris sighs, looking up at the younger woman, "She doesn't deserve this type of life. How did your father allow you to live this kind of life?"

AJ giggles, eyes lighting up, "Dad gave up trying to dictate my life style a long time ago. I'm...destined for this life. I've never known anything different. I don't mind it. Despite this job being filled with endless thanklessness, I like helping people; giving people a second chance." She shrugs absently, "When I started ARC Consultants, it was with the blessing of my family and in honor of those that strove for some semblance of balance between both realities."

"From what I've heard, the work you do is truly remarkable," Chris offers, granting her a smile, "I never liked how my family did things; what I was forced to endure when I was younger than Allison. I never agreed to killing aimlessly, mindlessly, but sometimes you can't control what people in your family do."

"No, but you have the ability to atone for it and give honor back to your family," AJ responds easily, "Now, I hope you don't mind, but I do have things to do."

"Of course. Before I take my leave, is there anyway we can contact you, in order to bring you to meetings?"

Searching the man's face, she nods slowly. There is something about Chris that feels familiar, and she has a feeling he has the makings of a person she can come to respect. Giving him the number to her cell, she walks him to the door and gives him a curt farewell.

So, Chris seems to understand her stance on the situation, but Allison is less likely to trust her. AJ snorts, wondering how long it's going to take before she is constantly being followed around by werewolves or Pack members. Wanting to check out the Preserve, the blonde slips on a thin, hooded zip-up, knocking her feet into a pair of sneakers; making sure her cell phone, water bottle and keys are on her person.

* * *

Racing through the woods, AJ feels everything fade, her mind running through every problem. The first is to figure out _why_ the Darach carried so much vengeance that she turned against Nature itself. Something caused the Darach to go Dark Side. Deaton had informed AJ that the Darach had once been an Emissary to a member of the Alpha Pack, and her Alpha had been ordered to kill off her entire Pack before joining the Alpha Pack. Of course, the Alpha Pack goes against nature itself, and in turn, AJ needs to figure out _who_ caused the formation of the Alpha Pack.

A catalyst had to have been happen.

Someone must have known about the potential that resides beneath the roots of the Nemeton.

AJ comes to a stop, her entire body tensing when she realizes she is only a few feet from the mystical tree stump. She had no intention of coming close to it, the very essence of evil fills the air with an invisible plume. Mentally blocking out the suffocating mystical stench, a scent that the untrained would never pick up. Closing her eyes, she feels the tension along her spine as a new pressure appears in the atmosphere.

"Regan informed me of the situation at hand," a slightly gruff voice greets.

"Is this your doing?" she demands, glaring at the stump.

"Of course not, Darling. I have more pressing matters to deal with. It seems as though there is a rising faction seeking to use this power as a pivotal movement."

Turning to the man, her hardened gaze pinning the man in place, "How come we've never been informed of this faction?"

"It's been contained within Hell for now, but one has been working on the surface since the last break out," the man replies.

"And how am I supposed to believe you?" she demands.

The man scoffs, "Last I checked, Darling, we have a generalized understanding. I take care of souls that damn themselves, whether it be by Sin or Deal."

AJ sighs, nodding her head, "Sorry. I trust you to uphold our contract. Have you been able to figure out who the faction leader is?"

"Whoever it is has themselves well hidden. I have some of my surface agents on the look out."

AJ bows her head, gaze focused on the stump, "Can I assume that if I am in need of your help, I can call upon you?"

"After to saved one of my dearest ones? All you have to do is ask," he states, "I may have something in my own personal library that might help. I'll have it sent to you."

Nodding her head, she barely registers as the pressure in the atmosphere fades. Taking a step back from the Nemeton, she turns on heel and breaks into a dead sprint. Moving through the woods, she allows instinct to take over and thoughts fade away as she leaps over fallen branches and high roots. Why is this happening? Who would be dumb enough to create a Devil's Gate and open it? This case has endless questions and no answers in sight.

* * *

_**Location: New Orleans, Louisiana**_

Deep in the bayou, a lone figure carefully docks the motor boat to a pier. Stepping off the boat, boot-clad feet clapping against the wooden planks as it approaches the house. Knocking on the door, the figure waits until the door opens.

"Can I help ya, _jeune_?" an aged voice greets.

Pulling the hood down, the young man offers her a smile, "_Bonsoir sage,_ it has been awhile."

"Oh, sweet _fils_. C'mon inside, child. Let me make ya some tea and y'can tell this old woman what you be needing," the woman states as she ushers him into the house. After he is offered a cup of special blend tea, the old crone sits across from him, "Now, what'cha need?"

"I need everything you can give me about turning a Nemeton into a Devil's Gate," he states firmly.

The woman's eyes narrow, "That's dark magic t'be messin' with, child. Nuttin' good can come of it."

The young man smirks, pulling a glass vile out of an inside pocket of his jacket, the substance within the vile glowing a light green, "I figured I can make it worth your while."

The crone's gaze zeroes in on the object and a wide grin spreads across her face, "I think we might be able t'come up wit an agreement."

"Then let's talk."

* * *

_**Location: Seattle, Washington**_

A wicked cackling fills the room as a tall, curvaceous woman stalks around the bound figure hanging in the middle of the warehouse. It's a total cliche, she knows, but the sniveling creature before her fills her with disgust. Glimmering orange eyes peer up at her in fear and the woman relishes in the taste as it permeates the very air she breaths.

"You know, I'm on a _very_ tight schedule. I'm seeking out the one that goes by the name of Ariaya. You will give me her location, and I will grant you mercy," the dark-haired woman states as she moves around the man with calm steps. "Or, I can make this experience seem as though the Spanish Inquisition was a party."

The bound man hanging from the ceiling lets out a sound of dismay, "P-please. I don't know where Ariaya is."

"Last I remember, you were in her inner circle. Give me what I want," she coos, her voice sticky sweet, even as the tip of a silver knife traces along the man's skin; the pressure only strong enough to leave thin, white welts. "I can make this slow and painful," she continues as the blade travels along the expanse of his chest at a slow pace, "Cut into the human body careful enough, and I can open up your chest cavity in a way that will allow me to show you your still-beating heart before I rip it out of your chest." The man's orange eyes widen, the stench of fear becoming thicker the more she speaks, "Or I can make precise incisions along your stomach, slowly pull your intestines and use them to hang you with; watching as you slowly choke around your own shit."

"Okay! Stop. Please! Ariaya said she had something to attend to down south. She said it was important."

The woman pauses, the tip of her knife pressing firmly against his torso; a small bead of blood forming on the gleaming blade, "Where?"

"She didn't give me a town. Only coordinates!"

It is only at the pointed glance that she receives the coordinates, the man releasing a gasp of relief as she pulls back, "You are sure?" The man nods frantically, "Good." Without sparing the man reprieve she plunges the knife into the center of his chest and with enough force, drags the blade up the length of his torso. "Your mercy, as given."

She stalks off, pulling out a cell phone and making a call, "Hey. I need a clean up in Port Side Warehouse District, Warehouse number twenty-eight."

* * *

**_Location: Beacon Hills, California_**

She's in her study when she feels a familiar sensation form along her internal senses. One of her wards had been crossed. Pushing open the window of her study, she drops solidly from the second story window and dashes toward the focal point. Digging into the pocket of her jacket, she removes a long, silver whistle and without hesitation releases a long, drawn-out burst of air; releasing a subsonic sound that can only be heard by creatures with exceptional hearing.

Essentially, the McCall Pack.

Breaking into the clearing, she skids to a stop, instinct calling on her to brandish two, 12-inch long silver blades. Standing in the clearing, a white-haired woman gives her a wide grin and AJ doesn't have to look around her to realize she's been surrounded. Bold orange eyes glare at her.

"Hello, AJ."

Smirking, AJ spins one of the blades in her hand, "Ariaya. I have to say, I've been looking for you for a long time."

"Are you still bent about that thing with Lorien?" the white-haired woman asks, her tone cynical and dry.

"Oh, I have no doubt I will be getting vengeance for what you did," AJ replies, shifting her stance as she opens her awareness to those surrounding her.

"You Hunters and your need for revenge," Ariaya waves her hand, "Someone, _please_, kill this abomination."

AJ ducks as one of Ariaya's followers launches himself at her, her center of balance pivoting around as she simultaneously brings the side of her blade across the man's chest. Warm blood sprays against the side of her face and it only forces her mind-set to shift from researcher, to fighter.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Thank you for those that follow/favorite'd my story.**

**ZizFox: Thank you for your review.**

**Next Chapter: A fight for territory come between Ariaya's followers and AJ and the Pack. More questions rise and judgment calls are made as AJ makes a decision that sets every Pack member on edge.**


	3. To Be Damned

**A Legacy's Duty**

**Summary:**

"With every action there is a positive and negative reaction."

The Darach's use of the Nemeton for Blood Magic causes the scales to tip; and Beacon Hills soon finds itself at the center of it all. When it all becomes too much, Deaton gets in touch with an old contact for help.

A person who is not as normal as they appear.

* * *

**Chapter Three**  
_To Be Damned_

* * *

_**Location: Beacon Hills, California**_

An invisible wave flings the haggard blonde across the clearing, her back slamming against a tree with unforgiving force. She doesn't hesitate as she uses the pressure holding her against the tree trunk to pull her legs up, boot-clad feet pressing flat against the wood. Pushing against the force, she launches herself away from the tree as a shard of pure ice pierces through the bark of the tree. Ducking under the extended arm of the Mage, she barely blinks as her silver blade buries into the man's throat. As her foot plants onto the ground slightly behind his shock-frozen body, she spins again, ripping the blade from his body, her second hand bringing the hilt of her blade between his shoulder blades. As the man crumbles to the ground, a series of piercing howls echo through the Preserve, and it's enough of a distraction for her to move onto the next Mage.

One of the wolves breaks through the brush just as the side of her blade slices along the tendon at the back of a Mage's ankle, bringing the Mage to his knee. Shifting her weight to the ball of her left foot, she whirls around as she simultaneously brings her opposing foot up with the momentum; the top of her foot connecting with the back of the man's neck. She grunts as the Mage lashes out blindly, shards of ice slicing along her extended leg and in return she drives her left blade straight through the side of his neck.

"AJ! Look out!"

Hearing Stiles' warning call out through the clearing, she doesn't hesitate in dropping to her stomach, her body tumbling to the side as she avoids another attack, her right arm cocking back before she lets the second blade fly from her grip. Hearing Ariaya's voice shriek in pain, the blonde smirks as she catches sight of her pinned to a tree trunk.

"Mage's are Elemental Manipulators!" she belts out, even as Ariaya hisses as the handle of AJ's blade burns her hand as she tries to remove it herself.

With Ariaya pinned to a tree, AJ is able to focus on the five remaining Mages. It's obvious the Pack is having trouble; the Argents unfamiliar with this type of fighting, but AJ moves around the distracted Mages. Her blade rip into their bodies as they are so focused on the wolves, her mind never paying attention to the shock and disgust written on a lot of expressions. Seeing movement from the corner of her eye, she reacts and skids to a stop in front of the exposed Stilinski-kid, a shard of ice plunging into her shoulder.

Dropping to her knee, she lets out a groan, her tongue tracing over a cut on the inside of her cheek. Spitting out the blood, she wipes at her mouth with the back of her sword-hand, gaze lifting to the white-haired woman dropping the AJ's sword to the ground at her feet; her hand covered in red burn welts. She takes a step toward the young woman standing over Stiles protectively.

"You have to be really fucking stupid to bring yourself here," AJ spits out, gritting her teeth as she yanks the ice shard from her shoulder.

Ariaya cackles from her place, "I was surprised when I hit your wards. I still have yet to figure out why you still fight for humanity."

"Because I can," AJ shoots back, glaring at the woman.

"Why? Last I checked, Humanity hasn't done you a lick of good. Come on, AJ. All that power and you don't even know how to use it, or don't desire to? Imagine what you can do with it," Ariaya coos, her voice scratching against the blonde's nerves. "You and I aren't all that different. We do what we need to survive. We gather strength in power."

AJ snickers, struggling as she pushes herself to her feet, "You have a point," Several gasps sound from the Pack, "but there is one particular thing that sets us apart." Seeing the orange-eyed woman raise her eyebrow, AJ smirks, "I have _friends_."

Ariaya's eyebrows crinkle with confusion before she is flung through the air by an invisible force, her back once again planted firmly against a tree trunk. As Ariaya opens her mouth to talk a snap of someone's fingers pierces the air and the white-haired woman finds her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Heaving a sigh of relief, AJ glances off to her left as an ebony-haired woman steps out of the shadows, red-on-black eyes surveying the bodies on the ground before settling upon AJ.

"Sorry I'm late," the woman greets AJ with a wicked smile, "I picked up Ariaya's trail just a few hours ago. When I heard she was headed in this direction, I figured I'd follow."

AJ nods, wincing as the injuries pull from her movements as she straightens her posture, "Take her into custody and detain her for questioning. I'll take care of the SnB's."

The dark-haired woman moves to stand by the bound-and-gagged Ariaya and gives AJ a mocking salute before the two disappear in a flurry of shadows. AJ pays no mind as she turns to the wolves, her eyes blank as she takes in the shocked expressions.

"Christopher," she calls out stiffly, her eyes dropping to her injured shoulder, fingers teasing the wound gingerly. "Are you able to procure a large container of salt and a container of gasoline?"

"W-what for?" Isaac huffs out, looking between the injured woman and Derek specifically.

AJ stares at them blankly and doesn't bother answering as she turns on heel, stalking toward the nearest dead Mage. They watch as she drags each body to the center of the clearing, never asking for help even at the hopeless silence that falls over the group. An air of sorrow surrounds them as she lays them on their back, taking the time to cross their arms over their chest. She pats the pockets of her jacket before removing a handful of golden dollar coins. Without prompting, she kneels next to each of the bodies and places a single golden coin at the center of their foreheads.

_"Terra, ignis, aqua caelum, _  
_Unde ad vos venisse dicuntur. _  
_Revertere in loco, _  
_Facultates a dea. _  
_Pone animam tuam in reliquis, _  
_Lorem ipsum dolor sit pax."_

Chris returns to the clearing and places the items at the woman's side. She nods curtly before dusting a thin layer of salt over each body, mixing it with sprinkles of gasoline. Locating her stash of matches, she lights one before tossing it on the bodies, barely reacting the the instant flare up for flames as the turns on heel.

"W-why would you do that?" Scott asks, his hand coming to his face to block the stench of burning flesh.

AJ combs her fingers through her hair as she stops just before the group, her body turning to face the funeral pyre, "It is standard procedure to Salt and Burn bodies, in order to lay their spirits to rest and keep their corpses from being used. Mages, especially, have a belief that their souls are to be purified and blessed in order to receive judgment from their Goddess. Their magic was tainted by the witch, Ariaya. _This_," she waves a hand toward the burning corpses, "is how they would have wanted to be laid to rest."

Chris shifts his weight, grabbing her attention, "I can have my men act as clean up. You kids get out of here."

Snorting at the thought of being considered a kid, AJ nods and turns to head off. Hearing someone call out for her to wait, she pauses mid-step, only to have Stiles appear in front of her. Seeing his wide-eyed expression, so insistent, she cocks an eyebrow. His gaze drops briefly before rising to meet her own again and she takes it as a signal to look down. Seeing her second silver blade carefully clasped in his hand, she can't help the small twitch of her lips as her nimble fingers trail along the sleek surface.

"Thank you. That's the second time you've saved my life."

Meeting his gaze, she bows her head in a respectful manner, "I need no thanks, Stiles. I thought I told you that already."

Without waiting for anyone else to say something, the young blonde disappears in the shadows of the woods. AJ didn't really have time to hang around.

She has a witch to deal with.

* * *

Hidden in the shadows of the warehouse, Derek Hale remains silent as he watches the blonde Huntress as she gingerly slips out of her t-shirt, taking the time to check over the injuries along her arms and torso. Even as the witch from earlier, Ariaya, remains seated at the very center of the open room, AJ spares the witch no attention as she burns the tip of a threaded needle. Without flinching, the woman begins to stitch up her injured shoulder, Derek wondering about the almost-serene expression on her face.

A side door opens and the dark-haired woman from earlier enters. Resisting the urge to announce his position, Derek pulls in tightly on his instincts as he catches the familiar scent of sulfur in the air. This is why he is here. This is why he followed the Huntress. A Hunter that considers a _demon_ to be a friend. The demon drops a bag onto the table AJ stands in front of. AJ grants the demon a curt nod as she opens the bag, pulling out a t-shirt that she instantly slips over her head. All of Derek's instincts tense and readies for action as the Huntress begins to remove several different knives, medical forceps, salt, a lighter, and a simple black Sharpie marker. A sickening sensation churns in Derek's stomach as he takes in the way AJ delicately caresses each shiny instrument with soft fingertips.

"Now, Ariaya, you are hereby being prosecuted for your breech of contract with ARC Consultants; the incidents in question resulting in the deaths of at least twelve ARC agents, four Roamers, and no less than five Innocents. You are also being prosecuted for crimes against authority, with the intent on conspiracy with an unknown Black-Listed agent. How do you plead for your crimes?" AJ's voice leaves no room for emotion, causing Derek to shiver as the blonde nonchalantly circles around the bound woman.

"I owe you _nothing_. We used to be something of worth. Now we pander to humanity. It's sickening."

"We are willing to make you an offer of mercy if you are willing to give us the name of the Black-Listed agent currently targeting this territory," AJ states without inflection.

The witch scoffs, "Like I believe you will grant mercy. How many years ago was it that I was elbows deep in the guts of Lorien Malcolm?"

AJ's eyes narrow, "Hm. I see. Regan," Derek tilts his head at the familiar name, "Tell me what is her given punishment, in regards to her affiliation with this faction of mutinous _monsters_."

Her dark-haired companion grins, "Eighty Earth Years on the Rack due to her attempt against the Crown. Forty Earth Years on the Rack granted for every soul seeking retribution for her grievous actions."

He watches as AJ motions to her friend and with a wave of a hand, Ariaya is pulled to her feet; arms and legs spread eagle. Picking up the Sharpie, AJ approaches the witch with measured steps, moving to stand before one of the extended arms. Gently gripping the witch by her hand, her eyes never look away from the expanse of skin on display as her teeth pulls the cap off the marker.

"Did you know that skinning a human being is much more tedious than doing so on an animal?" AJ asks, her tone a mixture of matter-of-fact and innocence as she begins making dash marks along the arm. "See, for humans, the skin happens to be the largest organ, covering every millimeter of the body. Now, one must be careful and know _precisely_ where to cut; otherwise the blade will sever those tiny blood vessels that rest just under the top layer of skin."

AJ makes two noticeable marks at the top of the witch's forearm, just underneath the bend of her elbow, "See, the real art of performing this act on humans, is knowing that it is a _very_ slow process, and it must be done in pieces. You can't move too fast, or you'll catch flesh; and that's not the point of this lesson. No. You have to know _exactly_ how deep, and as I'm showing with these dash marks, making the smallest incisions along the way allows air to breath underneath the layer of skin. After all _that_," AJ pulls away from the various dash marks, grinning up at the woman with far too many teeth displayed, "it is literally _nothing_ to pull the skin from flesh. Do you want to know what is done to keep the exposed flesh from growing a new layer of skin?" AJ points to the container of salt, "Spreading a layer of salt along the exposed flesh...well...that part is particularly painful, _but_ necessary in order to preserve the body as is."

Derek swallows back the bile in his throat as AJ steps away from the witch, before she moves to the table. Capping the marker, she sets it down before picking up a long, thin-bladed knife; the razor-edged blade smooth and without any ridges. She holds it up to the light, inspecting it as she carefully drags the flat of her finger across the flat of the blade.

"You do know that what I am about to attempt on you is only the _first_ torture style demons favor in the Pit. One month on Earth is equal to ten years in Hell. There are twelve months in an Earth Year. _Eighty_ Earth Years paid by blood, tears and flesh, and _that's_ just for your crimes against the Crown," AJ states, her voice soft as she turns slowly to face the witch.

"Wait!" Ariaya shrieks as AJ takes a step toward her, "I don't know who the faction leader is, but my Master is Braxius. He commanded me to summon a group of Mages and scout the area. Th-The absolute power that radiates from this town is intoxicating. If it wasn't for your wards, I would have felt it before I hit the town's boundaries."

AJ hums, taking another step forward, "You really think I believe that's _all_ you know?"

Ariaya struggles to move, "The faction leader uses enforcers to do his dirty work, to assess the situation and track down whatever ingredients are needed for the spell work. No one but his inner circle knows who-"

Derek flinches as AJ buries the blade in the witch's throat, her blue-flecked green eyes cold, "I am granting you a mercy you _don't_ deserve. May your soul be devoured by the hands of Hell."

AJ pulls away as the body crumbles to the ground at her feet and after a brief glance at it, the blonde turns on heel and approaches the table once more. Regan watches her from the corner of her eye as AJ places the blood-coated knife on the table; fingers trembling and head bowed with what looks like defeat.

"You know we can't save them all, Lis," Derek's ear twitches at the name. "Sometimes, they are just too corrupted to be helped."

Removing a packet of wipes from the bag, AJ is silent as she begins cleaning the blood off her hands, "I know."

"Why so glum, chum? You know it had to be done."

AJ drops the blood-stained wipe on the table before she begins cleaning off the used knife, "I didn't _want_ to show her mercy. I wanted to make her suffer. For everyone she hurt, for Lorien Malcolm and others like her. I wanted it to be slow, and painful, and I wanted her to feel everything they felt at her hands. We gave that bitch sanctuary, and she _slaughtered_ innocent people!"

Derek swallows thickly at the pure desperation in the blonde's voice. He recognized this type of desperation, pain and anger. He recognizes the guilt and self-hatred. Placing the knife back on the table, AJ places her palms flat on the table and heaves a heavy sigh.

"This is bigger than just this town, even bigger than _us_. This isn't like any scheme I've heard of," AJ murmurs, the fingers of one hand combing through her hair tiredly.

Regan nods, "Well, we can rule out the possibility of biblical aspirations. I'm sure we would have noticed some kind of warning before now if that was this dick's end game. So...this is probably a power play."

"Ariaya mentioned a spell and ingredients. Do you think you can put some feelers out?"

Regan offers the Huntress a small smile, "I can do that. But tomorrow. Tonight, you and I are going to go, knock back some drinks and try to forget about our worries for just one night."

AJ turns to her friend and even from his hidden place, Derek could see the small, relieved smile, "I'd like that."

Regan pushes AJ toward the side door, "Go on. I'll clean up this mess."

Nodding to her friend, AJ pats the woman on the shoulder before slipping out the door. Derek pulls away from the window and slips into the cover of night.

Never once seeing the red-on-black eyes turn toward the window, the edges of Regan's lips twitching in amusing.

* * *

_**Location: New Orleans, Louisiana**_

The ringing of a cell phone is barely audible over the smooth jazz band on stage. Turning his gaze from the stage, the lone gentleman at the bar pulls the phone from his pocket and answers the call without looking.

"Yeah? Oh, hey. Yeah, I managed to gather the intel you need. Of course, it was hella easy, _mon ami_," the man switches to the local slang with a sarcastic air, "Of course I expect my usual payment, upfront when I bring-" He pauses, eyes lighting up with excitement, "Really? Oh, I can't wait. I'm sure I can go through my sources and get you the rest of that stuff. I better be getting double my payment for this shit."

Hanging up, the young man drops a few bills on the table, draining the contents of his glass before he saunters out of the jazz club. Opening up a new text message, the young man grins widely as he types out the message.

_I should make it to BH within two weeks._

**_Good. Get your shit done and get here, as soon as possible. I need someone of your skills to keep a close eye on this troublesome Pack._**

* * *

_**Location: Beacon Hills, California**_

With Regan gone on her personal quest, AJ finds herself sitting in Beacon Hills Memorial Park alone. Her eyes observing the children playing on the various equipment and parents nearby keeping an eye out while simultaneously conversing with each other, she allows her this moment to relax. This is what she is avoiding. Not avoiding as in running in the other direction, but avoiding in order to preserve. Rubbing gently at her aching shoulder, she struggles over the various issues at hand. She would do _anything_ to keep these innocent civilians safe and secure.

She does wonder, about how life would be if she hadn't been born into her life style. If she had been born and ordinary, civilian. She'd have life long friends, who weren't friends with her simply due to circumstance, honor codes, contracts or blood-bonds. She'd live in a regular, two-story house with loving parents instead of being virtually alone. She knows her dad loves her, and would do anything for her, but much like herself, her dad carries his own commitments to the cause. She wouldn't fall into endless nightmares filled with very little hope. She wouldn't have memories that haunt her while she's awake during the day. She wouldn't suffer from the wretched PTSD she's been diagnosed with, her triggers being the _most unlikely_ triggers ever.

Lance always said normality is overrated, but is it really?

"You should be more aware of your surroundings," the sudden words cause her to snap out of her thoughts, gaze quickly focusing on the werewolf standing behind her park bench.

Clicking her tongue against the back of her teeth dismissively, she shrugs, "Regan said she caught the scent of wet dog last night in the warehouse. I should have figured out of all of them, you'd be the cautious one."

"You're not angry about being followed?" Derek asks, his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket.

Snorting at the idea, she shakes her head, "You guys just learned that there are people trying to turn your town into a Devil's Gate and you think I'd be upset about you being cautious around _strangers_?"

"Allison has mentioned on more than on occasion-"

"That I'm not trustworthy, nor do I trust any of you not to screw shit up. Look, I get it, I do, and I'm not angry. More annoyed, but not angry."

A silence falls over the two, only to be broken by the sound of movement as Derek walks around the side of the bench to sit next to her. She isn't lying, of course. She _does_ understand why she is being followed. She would do the same if their positions were reversed. She just doesn't like the thought of someone witnessing her in her darkest moments.

"I get it, you know," he states, cutting through the silence, "The desire to see that witch suffer. You trusted her and she...betrayed you, at the cost of innocent lives." AJ tilts her head, eyes sliding over to him, "Kate Argent, Chris' sister, seduced me when I was a teenager and used the information to burn the majority of my family alive. She didn't suffer when she died a year ago, but I wish she would have."

AJ nods slowly, "I assume you told them about the torture scenario?"

Wincing, Derek hesitates before dipping his head, "Yes. Most of them are...disturbed at the idea. We...don't agree with such methods. Stiles has been arguing that you aren't that kind of person. Allison says we don't know anything about you and you could very well be that type of person."

Giggling, AJ allows her head to fall back, gaze turns toward the sky, "She's not wrong. Torture isn't exactly something I prefer to do, but aside from Regan and her followers, I'm the only person sanctioned and capable of doing it."

"Sanctioned?"

"I told you, ARC Consultants is mostly underground and invisible to the world around us. You really think I'd allow any of our people to just...torture people? We only allow that duty to people capable of doing it and can be trusted to keep to our Code. The majority of Hunters under contract with us wouldn't know torture if it bit them in the ass, and we like to keep it that way," AJ pauses, glancing at him from the corner of her eyes, "I don't want my people to have _that_ kind of Sin on their hands. If any of us are going to be damned, I'll gladly take the fall. There are some things people shouldn't have to witness."

"You consider yourself damned?" Derek asks, his tone low, but curious.

"Of course I'm damned. I was damned from the moment I started breathing," she snarks, earning a raised eyebrow in response, and a wry grin tugs at her lips as she shrugs her uninjured shoulder, "It's an inside joke with the family."

"Ever consider seeking redemption?"

Cackling with amusement, AJ shakes her head, "Oh hell no. I don't believe in all that, 'you can commit Sin, but asking only for forgiveness will save your soul' bullshit. I haven't done all this shit just to wipe my hands of it when it becomes to difficult. If I'm to be damned for taking on difficult tasks so other people don't have to, then I'll let myself be damned."

"You know..." Derek's lips twitch, his own cynical expression evident on his features, "I don't think many people would agree with that."

"Yeah?" Seeing his nod, she snort, "Well, those people can go fuck themselves."

A huff of surprised amusement slips past his lips.

AJ grins despite herself. Maybe there is something special about this town after all.

* * *

**Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who read the update! I'm really getting into this story and I promise there IS a plot. EVERYTHING mentioned so far in the story as a way of tying together and will be explained as the story progresses.**

**Reviewers!**

**ZizFox: Well, I don't know about 'best', but I'm pleased you enjoy it so much. Thanks again! I look forward to your thoughts on this one.**

**LLPottle: Your name cuts out due to the (period marks) so I am unable to have your exact name down, but HEY, thanks a bunch! I'm glad you find it interesting. I promise, the next few chapters, while dealing with things going on behind the scene, will focus on AJ and the Pack getting to know each other.**

**Kaiottic-Rawr: Aww...that was super sweet to think my story is good enough for a personal recommendation, and thank you for that.**

**If there is ANYTHING you guys want to see; certain characters interact, or type of bonding moments, let me know. I promise, there won't ALWAYS be tension between Allison and AJ (because Allison is awesome!). I don't dislike her character, but from her perspective, unknown Hunters are dangerous (she couldn't even trust her own family). So, please, let me know what you would like to see, what you like and I promise, Regan's character will show up again (she was far too serious in this chapter for my taste, but it was necessary) and cause chaotic harmony in the group (yes...she has that personality trait).**

**Hope you enjoyed!**


	4. Of Belief, Will and Knowledge

**A Legacy's Duty**

**Summary:**

"With every action there is a positive and negative reaction."

The Darach's use of the Nemeton for Blood Magic causes the scales to tip; and Beacon Hills soon finds itself at the center of it all. When it all becomes too much, Deaton gets in touch with an old contact for help.

A person who is not as normal as they appear.

* * *

**Chapter Four**  
_Of Belief, Will and Knowledge_

* * *

_**Location: Beacon Hills, California**_

"Of course this is more complicated than we've dealt with."

The weary tone wrapped in a familiar voice pulls Stiles to a stop mid-step, his head turning toward the direction it came from. Sitting outside of a simple, corner-side cafe a familiar blonde-haired woman pays no mind to the pedestrians as her eyes focus on the computer screen in front of her. It's been a few days since he last saw her in the woods, the same night Derek told them of witnessing her threatening to torture the witch, only to kill her without an ounce of remorse. Staring at her right now, Stiles couldn't really picture the Huntress as someone that dangerous. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun at the back of her head, bangs curling around her face delicately. Even from his distance, he could see the tired slouch along her shoulders, the dark circles pulling under her eyes. None of it seems to hinder her as her fingers quickly tap along keys, a single half-spent cigarette carefully clasped between two fingers.

"Regardless of what is happening here, there are still others out there that need our help. Yes. Send Kyle and Tyson to the case in Boulder, Colorado. Have Maria and Connor take the case in Decantur, Illinois. I think Davy can take care of the case Rochester, New York by himself, it's a simple SnB job." Stiles blinks at what he hears, watching as she flicks the ashes of her cigarette before bringing it to her lips, a small smile twitching on her lips as she exhales, nodding at whatever the person on the other end has to say, "I know. I wasn't expecting something like this when I agreed to help the Doc, but the is a situation that needs to be contained as much as possible. If you need help running shop, ring up Mattie. No. That dick owes me a shit load, so he can suck it up his fucking ass and take the damn job." She sighs, nodding again as the smile fades from her lips, "Sorry. It's difficult to do my job when there are people questioning me at every turn. I'd rather be back at HQ with my computers. Well, I'm sorry if I find technology better company than that of my human companions."

It's hard to remember, after everything that occurred over such a short time, that the girl had _literally_ dropped her life in order to help them. Stiles is pretty sure that most people would have witnessed what's going on around town and turned tail at the first chance. Seeing that the girl is _still_ working her usual job along with helping them, Stiles feels a twinge of guilt on the behalf of the Pack for taking the girl's help for granted. Okay, so _maybe_ she does things the Pack doesn't condone, but Derek even defended the girl's actions.

_Derek_ defended her actions. That has to mean something, right?

"Alright. I have some more things to sort through. Regan sent me a fuck-tonne of information that I have to go through and translate. Hell no. Latin is a breeze compared to this...Ancient Aztec crap the toss-pot handed over. I swear, if the crotchety old bastard wasn't such a damn help I'd nail his ass to the ground just in spite," AJ snarks, her expression lifting from its weariness as she lets out a laugh at whatever 'Lance' said in return, "I hear you, man. Have Regan call me with an update on those supplies, will you? Later, bitch." She sighs as she tugs the blue-tooth earpiece from her ear, "You guys are shit at stalking."

Stiles jumps, heat flooding to his face as he shakes his head, "No! I...uh...I really was just passing by. I was going to say hi, but your phone call seemed important and-"

"and you decided to eavesdrop?"

"I'm not dropping any eaves, I swear," Stiles belts out without thinking.

Sharp blue-green eyes snap to him and he is surprisingly greeted with amusement, "Seriously?"_  
_

Rubbing the back of his neck, he huffs at himself, "I really wasn't trying to listen in on your conversation. I...haven't seen you and just...I don't know," he shrugs, his nervousness causing his fingers to twitch, "wanted to...talk."

"You mean ask numerous questions?" she teases, stubbing out her cigarette before shutting the laptop, motioning for him to sit, "Go ahead. I don't bite." Stiles clumsily takes the seat across from her and smiles sheepishly as she raises a hand to signal the waiter. After giving the waiter their coffee orders, she leans forward, elbow resting on the table as the heel of her palm holds her chin up, keeping her passive gaze trained on him, "So, Samwise, what can I do ya for?"

"Uh...I actually don't know. I was actually just...curious." Seeing her eyebrow quirk, he nibbles on the inside of his cheek, "About you...in general. I know the others are..."

"Fearful and suspicious?"

Huffing out a nervous laugh, he bows his head in agreement, "I was going to say cautious. We've dealt with people that say they want to help, but are only wanting to help themselves."

AJ hums thoughtfully, flashing a wide smile at the waiter as he places their drinks on the table, and when the man walks off, she flicks her gaze back to him, "It's completely understandable. It's a pain in the ass to have people question everything I'm doing, but I do actually understand where you guys are coming from."

Stiles smiles, despite his nervousness, and licks his lips as his hyper-aware thoughts try to figure out which question to ask first, "You know Latin?"

"What kind of Hunter would I be if I couldn't read or speak Latin?" she shoots back, a teasing grin on her face, "Latin is necessary to know in order to exorcise demons from their host."

"That makes sense," Stiles muses aloud, "What other languages do you know?"

"Oh, well...knowing Latin makes it easier to understand ninety-percent of Western European languages; like Spanish, French, Portuguese, Italian and some Dutch. Greek can be tricky. My Enochian is a little sketchy, but it's easier to speak than read to be honest," she responds and he finds his eyes widening at the broad scale of languages, "I know enough Japanese and Chinese to get by if needed, but I have some contacts that are fluent in Asian languages."

"Damn. What the hell is Enochian?" Stiles asks, eyebrows knitting together in confusion at the slightly familiar word. "I've heard...something like that before but I can't figure out where I've heard it."

"_'The Book of Enoch'_ ring a bell?" Stiles shakes his head, "Enoch is the great-grandfather of Noah," Stiles' eyes widen and she ticks a finger in his direction, "Enochian is a dead and ancient language that _very_ few humans know of."

"...but _you_ know of it. So...how can it be that dead?"

AJ's lips twitch, her eyes lighting up with bemusement, "I can't give you _all_ of my secrets."

Snorting, Stiles bobs his head, "Fair enough. Your turn," She quirks an eyebrow causing him to huff, "I figured if I'm asking you questions, it's only fair if you get to ask some."

"Alright. What's your favorite movie?" Both of Stiles' eyebrows shoot up at the question, earning a small laugh, "Seriously. What's your favorite movie?"

"That's a difficult question, because...shit, there are soooo many good ones," he replies.

She nods in agreement, "True. I can tell you my favorite animated movie is a tie between the classic _Nightmare Before Christmas_ and _Batman: Under the Red Hood._"

"No freaking way," It's impossible for Stiles to contain his grin, "Dude, Batman is awesome! Seriously...best DC Hero ever."

AJ nods, "True, but if I'm honest, I like Batman because of his villains."

Before long, Stiles finds himself caught in a discussion about Batman's villains and their personification of various types of mental psychosis disorders. As they talk, he begins to realize that the girl in front of him is no different than his friends; a young, intelligent person who happens to be caught up in their world. They even break into the classic argument of 'DC vs. Marvel', to which AJ admits to being a die hard X-Men and Avengers fan. She even argues that Superman is DC's most overpowered hero and Spider Man being Marvel's 'whiniest bitch'. Or how Catwoman is DC's best anti-hero, while Deadpool is Marvel's greatest character hands down. As their debate grows deeper, Stiles finds himself more and more intrigued by the girl.

"Hey, I have a question," Stiles states, breaking their debate, "If you are capable of understanding Latin, do you think you would be able to help us finish translating our Bestiary?"

Her eyebrows quirk before nodding slowly, "I don't see why not."

* * *

Derek finds himself watching her again. Both AJ and Stiles sit at the large wooden table, the laptop with the Bestiary in front of both of them as AJ points every so often to a paragraph before she jots something down on a notebook in front of her. The longer they pour over the Bestiary, the more silent and curt the blonde becomes; the air around her growing more disgruntled. Stiles calls for a break, causing her to nod in agreement and the two stand from their chairs, stretching out their limbs; Derek wincing sympathetically at the pop and cracks along the spines and necks. As Stiles goes to fetch AJ some glasses, the blonde digs around in the bag she brought with her before pulling out a carefully packaged bottle of whiskey.

"This is never mentioned to your dad," she quips as she pours a few fingers into one glass before sliding it over to Stiles carefully.

Stiles blinks, staring at the glass with confusion, "Dude? How the hell did you get that?"

"I have various types of ID's in place, one that I sometimes use when I need to play 'college girl' on a case," she says, shrugging as she turns to Derek, "I know it won't have any affect on you, but would you like some?" Deciding to take the girl's amicable offer, he accepts one of the glasses, having always enjoyed the taste, despite the high tolerance, "Sometimes, a case requires me to play certain types of people, and if you can't tell," she motions to herself, "I have the appearance that most would find...uh...deceiving."

"Because you're pretty?" Stiles guesses.

Snorting, AJ gives him a pointed look, "Because I'm _blonde_."

"What is it about the Bestiary that has you...uncomfortable?" Derek asks as the woman slides back into her seat at the table.

Swallowing her mouthful of whiskey, AJ sighs, "This Bestiary is basically a manual on how to kill Animal Shifters, or Weres. It's...helpful in some cases, but...disturbing. I don't like Hunters that target a specific species."

"Wait! _Weres_ as in plural?" Stiles blurts out.

"There are three different species of Weres; Canine, Feline and Reptilian. Each species has different sub-species as well. Canines, you have wolves, coyotes and foxes. Felines, you have most undomesticated types, except for lions. Reptilian, you have-"

"Kanima!" Stiles blurts out again. At her nod, the teen shakes his head, "I don't get it. I mean, I know Jackson became a Kanima because he didn't carry his identity, like he didn't know who he was or some shit like that, but...he was bitten by Derek, when he was an Alpha. So...being bitten by a werewolf, doesn't mean you turn into one?"

This time Derek shakes his head, "Most cases, people shift into the species they are bitten by, but there are cases, like Jackson, who are turned into something different."

"Personality traits, genetics and affinity usually carries over and plays a part in the change. It also depends on the Sire as well, how determined he or she is to having you be like them," AJ supplies. She shakes her head as she takes another sip, "If this is all of the information you have, then it's no wonder why you guys are so limited in defense. Do you think-"

The door to the loft is pulled open, "Yo' Derek! Have you heard from Sti-" Scott freezes mid-sentence as his gaze lands on his best friend nursing a glass of liquor and the blonde sitting at the table next to him. "What is she doing here?"

Raising his eyebrows, Derek gives the Alpha a pointed look, "Last I checked, this is _my_ place. AJ has been helping Stiles translate Argent's Bestiary."

The sound of a chair scraping against the wooden floors pulls everyone's attention to the blonde as she stands from her seat, head tilted back as she drains the contents of her glass before setting it on the table with a firm thud, "I _really_ didn't come here for this bullshit. Sty," Stiles blinks, eyes wide at the nickname, "I'm sure you can translate most of what's left on your own, but if you need any help you know where to find me."

"Wait! You're leaving?" Stiles asks, shooting up from his own seat, chair flipping over to its back as his hands plant firmly on the table, "If they have a problem with you being here, tough shit. You've done nothing but help us-"

AJ raises a hand, "All you have to do is ask, Sty. I'm not going to stay where I am not welcomed."

Stiles' jaw clenches as he slaps down the screen of the laptop, "Well, I'm going with you. We can go get lunch, since I don't think we've eaten since we got here."

If there is one thing Derek has always respected about Stiles, it's the kid's stubborn ability to stand by people worthy of such respect. It's obvious that Derek and Stiles are the only ones that can understand where AJ's actions come from. Derek insisted that she hadn't _actually_ tortured the witch, though it did look as though she wouldn't have hesitated. Knowing the witch had been given a chance to use her abilities for a greater purpose and has killed innocent people in response, Derek didn't feel any remorse for knowing she is now dead. It's what Derek had done to Peter, what Peter had done to Kate, what they would have had to do with Jackson if turning him back hadn't worked.

"AJ," Chris Argent's voice cuts in as he takes a step forward, "I was hoping to talk to you, see if you caught any insight to how to stop this?"

"Created by magic, thus can only be destroyed by magic," AJ monotones as she hoists her bag over her shoulder, "I have a text that needs to be translated and it may take awhile, but Regan is doing some...shopping for me. Ariaya mentioned something about spell-work, so Regan is collecting ingredients for my cache. Doc agreed to handle the herbs and gemstones I might need, while Regan gathers...uh...the nastier things."

"Nastier?" Isaac asks, his head tilted.

AJ giggles, "Like the Eye of a Newt, or the Salamander Skin, or a Talon of a Raven, Blood of a Crow-" She lets out another small laugh as Isaac blanches at the words, "Yeah, some ingredients needed are...dark and I wouldn't allow myself to taint Doc's neutral magic, so Regan was the best choice."

"A demon? You trust a demon to gather ingredients needed for spell-work?" Allison asks, her eyes as skeptical as her tone.

"That _demon_ is currently in the process of serving Penance. With each positive deed, the less tainted her soul becomes. It's...a long and painful process for her, but Regan never _asked_ to be a demon. She was born that way, much like you were born Human, or Lydia a Banshee, or Derek a Werewolf. Sometimes, she does bad things in order to do the right thing, but she often keeps a firm toe on the proverbial line. She's actually the _only_ person I'd trust at the given moment."

"What do you mean?" Derek asks, his shoulders straightening.

"There are still demons that walk among us and unlike Regan, I can't be sure if they are in league with the person behind this mess or if they are on our side, or if they just don't care. I _know_ where Regan stands, she doesn't want Hell opened anymore than the rest of us."

"You really believe that?" Allison whispers, her eyes wide as she takes in the stubborn, determined gleam in the blue-green eyes.

"I am nothing without belief."

Derek notices Stiles perk up at the words, "Do you have a Spark?" AJ turns to the teen, "Deaton mentioned something about belief and will...when he made me do that...protection barrier with the Mountain Ash."

"He _never_ mentioned a Spark being here!" AJ hisses, slapping her palm against her forehead, "That explains why there's something...about you that feels familiar."

"Wait. What the hell is a Spark?" Scott asks, moving to stand protectively between her and Stiles.

AJ huffs, combing fingers through her bangs, "It's difficult to explain. Humans that possess a Spark...they are rare, very few of them exist, and those that have are usually protected."

"So, it's like a Druid or Mage?" Isaac wonders aloud.

Shaking her head, for the first time since the Pack arrived, her eyes soften as they land on Stiles, "No. They are essentially very Human, but depending on the strength of their belief and will they can...manipulate certain aspects around them. Though, being able to do all of that does not come without a price. Time, energy and training would be needed."

"You mean...I'm something _more_ than just a Human?"

Derek and the rest of the Pack sigh at the lack of esteem the teen carries, but the softened gleam in AJ's gaze instantly hardens, "There has _never_ been anything wrong with being _just_ a Human. The more you believe in yourself, the stronger your will becomes and with it you will gain the knowledge that there is next to _nothing_ you can't do." Stiles' eyes are wide with shock, even as AJ motions for Chris and Isaac to move from the door, "I do have to get going. If there are any questions, Christopher has my number."

"It's Chris."

Turning around, in order to slide the loft door shut, she gives Chris a sardonic smile, "I only give nicknames to people I actually like."

* * *

She's laying back along the slope of a grassy hill, the starlit sky dancing above her head. The peaceful tranquility is something rarely found in her life and the cool breeze only allows her to relax even more. She remembers one of her first memories made, within the past five years that she can remember. It had been a night, just like this one; the stars just as bright. She had trouble adjusting to the changes and on a night just like this, she had a rare, light-hearted moment with her dad. She giggles at the memory.

_She sat upon the slope of a grassy hill, knees pulled up to her chest and chin resting on top of them, her eyes tilted to the night sky. Alone. She was alone. She didn't understand. This wasn't something normal. She knows she is only a teenager, but her relationship with her dad shouldn't be this strained. She could feel his frustration and the awkward tension between them for the past month. She hasn't been all too surprised when he snapped at her, angry at their situation, angry at the sudden appearance in his life. She didn't stick around, dashing out of the room faster than they could react and out the front door. She ran until her limbs grew weary, her body still adjusting to the change of atmosphere. The moment she crashes onto the wet-grass of the hill, she doesn't bother getting back up._

_"H-hey, Kid."_

_Her eyes drop from the sky, turning toward the ground as she curls herself tighter. A soft thud sounds next to her and a tentative hand carefully settles on her shoulder, causing her to tense beneath the contact._

_"Look, I'm sorry, Kid. Really. It's just...I **never** thought in my entire life I'd actually have...my own family. I mean, not like a child."_

_"I-It's okay," she swallows thickly as the words slip out from between clenched teeth._

_"No. It really isn't. You didn't ask for this and unlike you, I **am** partially responsible for this. It's going to take some time, for me to get used to being someone's dad, but...I'd like it if you stayed."_

_Slowly tilting her head toward the man, her gaze meets his own, "R-really?"_

_"Like Hell I'm letting my kid run around this world without knowing everything that's out there."_

_"W-what about my...condition?"_

_His gaze sharpens, unimpressed by her words, "There's **nothing** wrong with you. You were **born** into this and can't help what you are, but none of that makes you **who** you are. And...maybe we should keep it in the family." She nods, stretching out her legs as her spine straightens, "Now! Let's go get some grub."_

_Seeing the genuine, almost hesitant smile on his lips, she giggles and nods._

"Something has been bothering you."

Hearing the familiar, deep voice, AJ smiles without looking at the new arrival, "It's been awhile."

"Indeed, it has. You only come here when something troubles your mind."

"I came across an untrained and hidden Spark," she replies without hesitation, "I want to help guide his abilities into growth, but most of his fellows do not trust me, which is expected given their situation."

"It is not his friends' decision on whether you train him, or not. It is up to the boy. If he wishes to go down this path, he _must_ know the rewards _and_ the consequences."

Snorting, she bobs her head, "Would you believe me if I told you he's already a part of this world? It just wouldn't feel right if I left him with a Pack and no way of protecting himself."

"If you believe this to be the right call, then help him," the voice replies.

"Thanks," she says, her voice softening toward the man.

"I know you are in the middle of something dangerous, and for now, I won't get involved, but if you need anything-"

"I can call upon you for help," she finishes, smiling warmly, "I know. Thank you."

"I must go for now."

AJ nods, her eyes sliding shut. The breeze around her fades and a sudden soft, warmth envelopes her. Opening her eyes once more, she smiles at her bedroom ceiling. Climbing out of her bed, she heads to the bathroom to get ready for a new day.

* * *

With a single-strap messenger bag hoisted on her shoulder, AJ yawns as she approaches the house. Sipping her coffee, she knocks on the front door with her other hand. She doesn't wait long before an older man, dressed in the light tan uniform of the Sheriff's department, answers the door. Seeing the man blink at her, confusion etched on his features, she offers the man a smile.

"You must be Sheriff Stilinski."

As his eyes snap to her own, she notes a sudden stern gleam in his eyes, "You must be this...AJ girl the kids are arguing about."

"Guilty," she says, offering him a sheepish smile as she raises her coffee as if she is toasting the knowledge, "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I was hoping to speak to Stiles." Seeing the conflicted look on his face, she shrugs a shoulder, "You are more than welcome to the conversation. He _is_ your son, and if you are in the know of everything that's going on in this town, then I don't see why you can't be brought in on this."

Sheriff Stilinski nods, ushering her inside as he calls further into the house for his son to come downstairs. Taking a seat on the living room sofa, she can't help but giggle as Stiles stumbles gracelessly down the stairs and into the room. The sleep-rumbled look instantly fades into shock, his hands fighting to smooth out his simple cotton t-shirt and flannel pajama pants.

"AJ? W-what are you doing here?" Stiles asks as he shares a look with his dad.

"I understand that your friends have no reason to trust me, but I told you before, I only wish to help," she says as she digs around in her messenger bag, pulling out two, leather-bound texts. Setting them on the table, she motions to the one on top, "This book has everything that you need to know about Sparks." Stiles' eyes widen comically, "The other is a beginner's guide on basic abilities."

"Spark? Stiles, what is she talking about?"

Stiles shrugs, "I know I have one, but aside from being able to manipulate Mountain Ash, I haven't really learned much about it. What exactly does it mean to have a Spark?"

Looking between the two Stilinski's, she offers both a smile, "Humans who carry Sparks are the offspring of a Human and a Nephilim." Stiles tilts his head to the side, confused as he flicks his gaze between her and his dad, "A Nephilim is the offspring of a Human and a Seraph, or Angel, and from what I can tell, I would assume your...mother was a Nephilim."

While the Sheriff's eyes soften with unshed tears, Stiles' narrow, "If my mom was some Angel's offspring then why did she die? Why...why did she lose her mind, or her will to live? Why?"

"It is my understanding that the Nephilim are considered...abominations of the highest order. Their very existence proves that Angels are capable of falling, capable of choice. It is said that most Nephilim are driven mad with the merging of their soul and grace. Your mother managed to hold off for as long as possible, most likely willed herself to live for the both of you for as long as she could," AJ smiles warmly, "Most Nephilim don't live past the age of adulthood. Your mother managed...far longer than any I've heard of. Your Spark carries her signature, a piece of her grace if you will."

"So I'm going to go crazy too?" Stiles snarks, huffing as he turns his gaze off to the side.

AJ shakes her head, "No. The amount of grace you carry within you isn't enough to act as a merge. You are, for all purpose, Human. You were just given an extra piece of your mother to carry around. Your Spark is pure celestial power, even if it is a fraction compared to an Angel's. That is why you are able to manipulate the Mountain Ash. The strength of your belief carries into your will. The more you believe you can do something, the stronger your will becomes. As you continue, you will simple _know_ you can do something, which knowledge in your abilities is far more difficult to break than a person's will, or belief."

"H-How do you know this?" Sheriff Stilinski asks.

"I have come across a Spark before," she answers honestly, "During a case, she helped and she's the one to give me these books. There are more at ARC, but you need to keep to the basics for now."

"Why can't she teach me?" Stiles asks.

"She died a year ago, at the ripe age of eighty-three. Very lovely woman. Although, I _do_ have to warn you. Everything comes with a price. The basic abilities will help build up your stamina, and the more you practice the less taxing it will be. It can't do any serious harm to you, unless you aim to perform an ability that is far beyond your power. It takes energy to perform these abilities, and that energy comes from your Spark. The stronger you train your Spark, the more you are able to do," AJ states. Seeing the conflict in his eyes, she nods and moves to her feet, "Look over the first book, read about it. I would suggest you _not_ to attempt any of the basics without me, but if you are interested in training, I can help. Sheriff," she nods to the man, "It is an honor to meet you. Sty," she hands him an ARC business card with her number on it, "call me when you make a decision. If you do not wish to go through with this, then I will need my books back so I can return them to the archives."

"Wait!" AJ's hand pauses on the doorknob, "Will it help? Will me doing this help protect my friends and family?"

"If your will is strong enough," she responds, "Don't give me an answer now. Take a day to think it over. I know your Pack isn't ready to trust me, but...I will feel better knowing that _you_ are able to protect yourself, instead of relying on others."

With those words, she leaves Stiles to his thoughts. As she saunters back to her car she pauses with the key in the ignition as her phone buzzes with a text message.

_**I'm in.**_

Smiling, she starts the car. That one message gives her more hope that this case won't end in failure.


End file.
